Better Call Saul, S6 (Netflix)

If there were any doubts about Vince Gilligan being the king of slow-burners, they are sure to be seldom in number after the first half of Better Call Saul’s final season.

Aside from the debatable ending to Breaking Bad (I didn’t like it - sue me), Gilligan has always preferred to let the events of his dramas move at the pace of a tortoise bearing the severed head of Danny Trejo.

And this latest chapter in the adventures of Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk) is no different. Sure, some big characters meet their maker but none, aside from one very shocking demise in the final throes of episode seven, come as a major surprise.

Generally, this series is concerned about Jimmy and Kim (Rhea Seehorn) trying to pull of their most elaborate ruse yet, to the detriment of their old colleague Howard (Patrick Fabrian). To say whether they manage it would be spoiling all the fun.

What is most intriguing about this plot is that it appears to finally (and firmly) establish McGill, better known as Saul Goodman, and his spouse as anti-heroes. For the first time in the show’s run, it is difficult to root for them as their motivations appear to be born out of malice rather than their previous modus operandi of trying to help those less fortunate than themselves.

Howard is definitely unbearable, but it’s questionable whether he deserves to have his livelihood ruined. Especially as the show ingeniously reveals that his seemingly perfect life isn’t quite as idyllic as it seems. That has always been one of the great strengths of Gilligan’s writing - the ability to make you feel empathy for even the most arduous of characters.

The eventual payoff of Jimmy and Kim’s scheme makes for a fascinating endgame for a series that has quietly been one of the best things on Netflix for some time. We know how things ultimately end up for some of the show’s other big players - such as Gus Fring (Giancarlo Esposito) and Mike (Jonathan Banks) - but we do not know how things turn out for the star-crossed lovers that provide its beating heart.

Given the explosive scenes that saw out the seventh episode, it’s unlikely to be a happy ending. But this writer will certainly be there to see it.

Derry Girls (Season 3), C4

At a time when the future of Channel 4 appears uncertain, it’s fitting that yet another of its comic triumphs should bow out on a high.

Lisa McGee’s Derry Girls has flown under the radar for some time, but its final season was the subject of much anticipation. Ending a series is never easy - after all, how do you neatly resolve competing character arcs within an hour?

Over the course of its third season, Derry Girls has done a great job of quietly building towards its crescendo. There have been plenty of the madcap capers that we have come to expect from Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle and James (see hilarious fourth episode ‘The Haunting’ for reference), but the show has also incorporated a number of deeper themes throughout its final seven episodes.

Death, romance and new beginnings are all abound as we wait to see how our protagonist’s teenage years conclude. But perhaps the biggest balancing act is saved for the final episode (‘The Agreement’), in which a dispute about competing birthday parties unfurls against the slightly more serious backdrop of the Good Friday Agreement.

Put simply, it is a majestic soiree for a show that perfectly balances nostalgia with the very relatable experience of growing up in modest surroundings. By the time you hear the final refrain of The Cranberrie’s timeless ‘Dreams’, which plays the show out for the final time, you may well shed a tear.

This is the sort of television that the UK does best - laugh-out-loud funny but with a serious point to make, and it should be protected at all costs.

Ozark (Season 4), Netflix

Ozark has long been one of the strangest hits to emanate from Netflix’s seemingly endless carousel of dramas. That is because it is so fundamentally different to its other runaway successes, remaining steadfast in its commitment to a slow-burn approach to storytelling.

Even in this spate of final episodes, showrunner Bill Dubuque refrains from allowing things to descend into all-out warfare à la Breaking Bad or other such shows. Sure, there is plenty of tension - a drama about an innately duplicitous couple who money launder for the Mexican cartel will give you that. But Dubuque and his creative teams always keep a lid on the pan, even as events approach boiling point.

For that reason, Jason Bateman and Laura Linney are the perfect leads for this show. Both are so beautifully understated in their work that they make for perfection as the Byrdes, a family that always appears to be able to stay one step ahead of total annihilation. Linney, in particular, is phenomenal in the show’s final run - her suburban Lady Macbeth homage reaching a near-perfect crescendo.

That’s without mentioning Julia Garner, who remains the beating heart of Ozark right up until its conclusion. Ruth Langmore is far from perfect but, like any good anti-hero, you’re always rooting for her. Plus, her CD collection gets a big thumbs up from old-school hip-hop nuts like yours truly.

It’s always difficult to say whether a show as good as Ozark has concluded satisfactorily, but I personally didn’t find too much to gripe at. Sure, it wasn’t as perfect as the final frame of The Sopranos but, at this stage, I’m beginning to think that show was the exception to the rule when it comes to ending a legendary drama. This was a fitting send-off for a show that admirably stuck to its roots and continually demanded its audience’s attention, which is no mean feat in an age where distraction is never too far away.

Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty, Now TV

High quality, ambitious television, that still manages to be entertaining can sometimes feel hard to come by. Then something like Winning Time comes along that reminds you how rich TV can be when creators get it right.

Adam McKay produced and directed the pilot for this series about the rise of the LA Lakers in the 1980s – and his fingerprints are all over it. Fans of The Big Short will enjoy Winning Time’s characters candidly breaking the fourth wall to explain their most cynical and comically straightforward feelings.

Among the shows other stylistic and experimental creative decisions that work is Winning Time’s dual aesthetic. All of the scenes are shot on film, but some are shot on 8mm, and with old Ikegami tube cameras that accurately replicate how basketball coverage appeared on TV in the 80s. At times you feel like you are watching stock footage, then you see the actors and your brain reminds you it’s just a drama. Shooting in this way really does elevate the biopic/ docudrama genre in making the world of the characters feel more real and more epic.

Whereas the look of Winning Time is working to make things feel more real, the characters are doing the opposite. Almost everyone in this series is a larger than life, whacky caricature of themselves – with an aspect of their personality being turned up to eleven. Larry Bird, a man who comes across as a middle American dad in real life, is a tobacco spitting hick in this. Likewise, Jerry West, a serene statesman in interviews, is here a psychopath who needs to win to shake the crippling pain of his losses.

The latter is a concurrent theme in Winning Time. The show is in part a commentary on toxic masculinity and the desperation and turmoil that often underpins a mans’ success in the land of the American dream. Jerry Buss, a man who won the NBA championship in his first year as owner is in fact on borrowed time and borrowed credit. His elaborate combover provides the perfect metaphor for his financial cover ups.

Kareem Abdul Jabbar is contemporaneously recognised as a mythical figure and one of the greatest to ever play the game - but he wears the burden of how white men truly view him in his every expression.   

Who knew a look into the rise of the Lakers could provide so much insight into 1980s America? The black experience in the US is another key thread in the series, explored through Jabbar, who changed his name from the one that was given to his family by a French slaver. Spencer Haywood’s cocaine addiction is similarly explained in this series as an inability to deal with the US’s slaving past.

Along these lines, Winning Time makes the case that sporting history is important cultural history, that is intrinsically fun to watch.

Moon Knight, Disney +

Marvel's foray into the small screen has been an undoubted success to date and that is due in no small part to the more contained, world-building brand of storytelling that the mini-series naturally lends itself to. Of course, this being the superhero genre, there is still a tendency for things to descend into a smorgasbord of special effects, but the journey to the finale is often satisfying.

Moon Knight is arguably the most ambitious of Marvel's Disney + projects to date in the sense that it positions itself as being separate from the wider MCU. There are no Avengers cameos and very little reference to the wider narrative that is taking shape over Phase 4 of the long-gestating canon of films.

Instead, the series is focused solely on Steven Grant, a nerdy Brit who is unknowingly suffering from dissociative identity disorder. He and his supposed alter ego, the more rugged Marc Spector, are played by Oscar Isaac, who does well to steer clear of Keanu Reeves territory on the accent front. It's another great turn from an actor that has consistently forged a reputation for being one of the best of his generation over the past couple of years, and the fact that he is opposite the equally excellent Ethan Hawke (here playing the villainous Arthur Harrow) is a real treat.

Mohamed Diab does a great job of blending Ancient Egypt with the more generic elements that come with any Marvel project. While I found the series finale to be a disappointingly familiar affair, there are preceding moments (in particular the outstanding fourth episode) which feel genuinely unique from anything I've seen from the MCU beforehand. Nobody can say that the franchise isn't at least attempting to deal with deep and challenging themes, in spite of how things may initially seem on the surface.

That being said, Moon Knight's ending did feel a little whimpering to me. As said, episode four (and to a lesser extent episode five) went well beyond the constraints of typical superhero fare and so it was disappointing to see things concluded with a paint-by-numbers, CGI-induced battle. But I guess that is the price you pay with this genre and can't really be avoided.

Whether a second series is commissioned or not, Moon Knight can be considered a successful attempt to integrate one of Marvel's lesser known (anti) heroes into its cinematic universe.

Slow Horses, Apple TV

This spy thriller, written by Will Smith (not that one) and adapted from Mick Herron’s titular novel, feels slightly out of place among the glitz and glamour of Apple TV’s normal programming.

Given the vague Line of Duty vibes it gives off, Slow Horses might have felt more at home on the BBC. Still, the streaming platform it calls home is hardly of much significance. What matters is whether it is enjoyable and, sure enough, this is one of the more entertaining crime procedurals I’ve seen in a while.

Much of that is down to Gary Oldman’s performance as Jackson Lamb, a disgraced and most often drunk MI5 agent who now runs the appropriately named Slough House. That is the home of a ramshackle operation manned by other absconded agents - an agent’s purgatory if you will.

The staff at Slough House are so numbed by the mundanity of their predicament that they almost seem contented by it. All except Jack Lowden’s River Cartwright, who longs to return to the field after being dismissed in controversial circumstances. His persistence eventually leads to this ragtag group being pulled into a mission to thwart some odious nationalists from executing an innocent man on live television.

Though at times farfetched, Slow Horses is mostly a tightly contained affair which relies largely on dialogue and its audience’s attention to keep its plot chugging along. There are very few OMG moments, its action mostly gradually uncoiling with each episode. Which, when you have Oldman and the always-excellent Kristin Scott Thomas at your disposal, is probably for the best.

Like many shows, this is not a flawless affair. Some of the dialogue can be a little heavy on the exposition front and many of the supporting cast feel completely disposable (as is often the case with crime yarns of this type). Indeed, one such character - a sarcastic computer hacker - is quite possibly the most annoying character I’ve endured since Jar-Jar Binks. And the under-utilisation of Olivia Cooke feltlike a massive missed opportunity to me.

But you can’t have it all and Slow Horses is mostly a lot of fun. I certainly wasn’t disappointed to learn that it’s been renewed for a second season. After all, who doesn’t want to see Gary Oldman being all pissed and sweary?

The Thief, His Wife and the Canoe, ITV Hub

This modest mini-series, which probably couldn't be more ITV if it tried, tells the bizarre (and yet somehow true) story of John and Anne Darwin, who avoided financial oblivion by hoodwinking people into thinking the former had perished in an unfortunate canoeing accident.

To reveal what actually happened would be spoiling the fun of Richard Laxton's series which, while being as familiar as your oldest pair of socks, always remains watchable due largely to the work of Eddie Marsan and, in particular, Monica Dolan.

Their portrayal of the Darwins is authentic enough to make you believe that you are peering into the lives of just another ordinary, loveless marriage. That being said, there is something especially vile about the way John emotionally abused his doting and hopelessly naïve spouse. One suspects though that, once you strip away the audacity of their con, the cycle of abuse which defines the Darwin's marriage is depressingly commonplace.

This is never clearer in the final episode, when Anne fights in vain to clear her name after realising the error of her ways. Psychological abuse is arguably the most dangerous of all domestic desecrations because it is the hardest to prove, its bruising unable to be worn as a badge of dishonour. While there is a modicum of redemption for Anne by the series' end, it's hard to disbelieve that the damage had already been done.

The Thief, His Wife and the Canoe is far from groundbreaking, but it is an oddly relatable tale that serves as a sad reminder that not all marital mistreatment involves a raised fist.

WeCrashed, Apple TV

WeCrashed is one of the most damning indictments on real world public figures I can remember. Apple’s latest glossy, expensive TV offering follows the real-life events of the WeWork company as they went from nothing, to a 47-billion-dollar brand, back to… not exactly nothing…9 billion. 

The butt of the joke in this series is not the company itself, it’s WeWork’s former CEO and Chief Brand and Impact Officer, husband and wife, Adam and Rebekah Neumann. 

As mentioned above, I can’t think of a more comprehensive and brutal attack on people that actually exist. Adam (played by Jared Leto) comes across as a buffoon with a few productive qualities, but his wife Rebekah emerges from WeCrashed as an irredeemably vapid, superficial and entitled…idiot. 

It’s not clear what their motives were in being so savage (there are hints in the series that the Neumanns might deserve it) but the creators of WeCrashed pull zero punches in their betrayal of Rebekah in particular. 

There’s a scene in which her dad is asked to repeat to a courtroom that he is “a fraud”. There’s an episode that follows Rebekah indulging her fantasy of becoming an actor, only for Anne Hathaway to show her amazing acting range in portraying Rebekah as a comparably terrible actor.

Throughout the series, Rebekah repeatedly tells herself and her husband to “manifest” things - something which in her mouth is made to sound nothing more than the entitled expectation that the privileged should be allowed to have and do whatever they want. 

A clip doing the rounds on Twitter from Episode Seven shows Rebekah crying for animals and suffering children when she appears as a guest on a radio show. It’s something that happened almost word for word in real life and, again owing to another brutally brilliant portrayal from Hathaway, paints Rebekah as the worst of the virtue signaling, superficial elite.  

A damning portrayal of Adam and Rebekah Neumann is the main driving force of WeCrashed. Public trashings aside, the show is very watchable throughout. Anyone who enjoyed the capitalist buzz you get from watching The Social Network will enjoy seeing WeWork go from nothing to something. The show should also be commended for its ability to reduce complex financial concepts into easily digestible drama.  

The WeWork crash was covered as a soap opera as it happened in real life. It makes sense that it makes for a pretty decent soap opera.

Peacemaker, Now TV

John Cena is known to many as one of the biggest names in the weird and wonderful world of professional wrestling. But, in case you didn't know, he's actually a pretty great actor too and was arguably the best thing about James Gunn's Suicide Squad reboot of last year.

It's not surprising then to see Cena handed his own gig in the form of HBO Max's Peacemaker, which kicks off directly after the events of the aforementioned film. It sees the titular anti-hero enrolled in yet another covert government operation involving a ragtag group of misfits (sound familiar) who have been tasked with thwarting an alien invasion.

That invasion is spearheaded by the parasitic Butterflies, who burrow into their hostage's skulls and control them like toy soldiers. If it all sounds a bit Invasion of the Body Snatchers-esque, it's because it is. Gunn, after all, has always been a director who wears his influences proudly on his sleeve.

But Peacemaker is surprisingly a show of hidden depths, one which explores the moral compromise its protagonist is made to endure not only by his paymasters but also his father. The latter is especially odious and played with typical menace by Robert Patrick (of Terminator 2 fame), with the dynamics between the two giving the show a powerful overarching theme that only becomes apparent as its events unfurl.

Still, this show is mostly about the sort of zingers that fans of Gunn have come to expect from his work. It is chaotic, violent and a whole lot of fun. And that's without mentioning its now iconic opening credits skit, which really has to be seen to be believed.

Severance, Apple TV

Every now and then a show comes along that is so intricate and layered that it can be enjoyable, perplexing and maddening all at once.

Dan Erickson's Severance is one such show. Not since the first season of Westworld have I watched something that is so brilliantly original, but also occasionally far too clever for its own good. There is so much happening here both from a thematic point of view and in terms of its actual events that it can be a challenge to keep pace.

Directed by Ben Stiller and Aoife McArdie, the show tells a Kafka-esque tale about the workers of a mysterious tech organisation, Lumon, whose memories have been surgically divided (or severed) between their work and personal lives. The workers are blissfully unaware of this until protagonist Mark (Adam Scott) becomes intrigued by an old colleague's doomed attempts to extract himself from his working life.

From there, the plot becomes a daring attempt by Mark and the rest of his colleagues (John Turturro, Zach Cherry and the excellent Britt Lower) to escape their seemingly self-imposed imprisonment. To do so, they need to get past the devilish Harmony Cobel (Patricia Arquette) and Milchick (Trammell Tillman), who take the phrase jobsworth to the extreme.

It is a daring show that has much to say about our endless quest for greater work-life balance, and our apparent willingness to sacrifice so much of our personal lives to the tech companies that increasingly shape the world in which we live. Rarely does a show deal with such entrenched philosophical quandaries and remain engaging throughout, but Erickson just about manages to pull the balancing act off.

Severance is certainly one of the most visually arresting shows that you'll see on TV this year, with Stiller, McArdie and cinematographers Jessica Lee Gagné and Matt Mitchell creating a stunningly claustrophobic aesthetic that perfectly encapsulates the circumstances of its characters.

This is mysterious, challenging television that defiantly goes against the grain of many other modern 'blockbuster' series. And, while it doesn't always satisfy, it always keeps you guessing and that ought to be celebrated.

Peaky Blinders (Season 6), BBC

Like Tommy Shelby, I have a confession to make. Before you ask – I haven’t killed anyone. My sin is far less devilish than that. In fact, depending on your POV, it isn’t necessarily a sin at all.

My admission is that I’ve never really bought into the Peaky Blinders hype. Maybe that’s because, as a genuine Midlander, I’m affronted by the majority of the cast’s attempts at a Brummie accent. Or maybe it’s because, akin to performing monkeys, me and my friend were once accosted by a group of southerners at Glastonbury festival because we ‘sounded like those Peaky Blinders off the telly’. 

Either way, it’s never been a show that has really captured my imagination. I’m a fan of Steven Knight and think the cast are generally excellent, but I won’t be mourning the Shelby’s absence from my screens now that their nine-year sojourn has come to an end. That’s mostly because I feel that, like so many preceding crime series, it had fallen into the trap of becoming too clever for its own good. 

Take this season for example, in which Tommy Shelby – in addition to running a multi-million crime empire and keeping both his family and himself in check – has been playing undercover agent for Churchill, a group of fascist MPs, the Boston mafia, and the IRA. I appreciate that this is a work of fiction but that’s beyond the capabilities of any man, let alone one from Birmingham (pardon the cheap gag). 

Of course, the result of all this perceived cleverness is that the show has ironically become more and more silly. This was never more apparent than in its admittedly enjoyable finale, in which Tommy managed to thwart the machinations of his enemies because, well, reasons. Another issue is that, while it’s always good to see a wrong’un get their comeuppance, there are so many of them in Peaky Blinders that after a while it’s hard to care. Bring back Sam Neil I say. 

That aside, it’s hard to deny the runaway success and broad appeal of Knight’s creation. On a superficial level alone, it is jam packed with great tunes (I’ll definitely miss hearing Red Right Hand every week), great outfits and a cool as f**k Cillian Murphy, and is (probably) deserving of the big screen send-off that has been promised. But I think the unwieldiness of this season’s plot was a clear indication that it’s the right time to put the flat caps away. 

Skint, BBC

Skint is a BBC project made up of seven monologues, each one focusing on a different characters’ bleak struggle against the grip of poverty. 

What you’ll realise early on when watching, is that this series is theatre, more than it is TV. The majority of the monologues rely on the central characters’ performance and dialogue to hold your attention, and only one makes use of the tricks of television. 

The first episode, I’d Like to Speak to the Manager is the only one of seven monologues that contains a televisual twist through flashback as we are cleverly indulged in what a waitress might do if she had the audacity to respond to the catchphrase of every stuck up “Karen”. 

Saoirse-Monica Jackson’s (Derry Girls) performance, and the twist in this vignette, are not the only things likely to stick in your head by the end of the series. There are a few great performances, in fact pretty much every central performance has something. Actors from Shane Meadows’ working-class TV and Film canon pop up in the form of Michael Socha (This is England) and Peter Mullan (Tyrannosaur) proving how unique and underrepresented their voices are. 

Speaking of underrepresented voices, Skint commits to showcasing accents from around the UK, a further reminder of how little our TV drama features the voices of authentic Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish characters. 

There might be a reason why poverty isn’t talked about too much in TV and Film, though. Skint staunchly shows us how bleak the subject is, fleshing out each characters’ anxiety, trauma, entrapment and sense of injustice created by lack of money. Children are the perennial victims of nearly all of these stories and being confronted with it leaves a horrible taste in your mouth.

This is not a light TV series that relies on spectacle. It’s a gritty, unflinching look at the horror of poverty, told in a stripped down, theatrical format. Unless you want to be reminded of the responsibility we all have for dealing with poverty, you might want to stick with Peaky Blinders. 

Top Boy (Season Four), Netflix

One of the most interesting things about consuming culture post-pandemic has been seeing how series have responded, or been affected by, the events of the last two or so years. In the case of Ronan Bennett’s supreme crime series Top Boy, you’d be forgiven for expecting something of an about-turn given the extent to which civil rights has been at the forefront of the socio-political landscape. 

My concern heading into this fourth season (or second if you’re only counting the ones which were bankrolled by Netflix) was that Bennett would succumb to the temptation facing all critically acclaimed crime capers – the urge to go big. The teaser content for this series suggested that might be the case, with the central narrative reaching beyond the confines of the Summerhouse estate to the sunny shores of Spain and Morocco. 

Thankfully, those fears were unfounded. While this latest installation of Top Boy is more ambitious in scale – with multiple character arcs competing for viewers’ interest – it remains a closely woven affair, in which the fates of all its central players are intrinsically connected. This is never more clear than its explosive final moments, which gives us one of the most shocking moments in the show’s history.

Prior to that, we get some excellent character development along the way. Whether it’s the increasingly blurred moral compass of gang leader Dushane (Ashley Walters), the futile attempts of Sully (Kane Robinson) to extricate himself from gang culture, or the inner conflict faced by Jaq (a standout Jasmine Jobson), there is plenty to get stuck into. That’s without mentioning another powerhouse performance by Michael Ward as Jamie, the aspiring top boy who is here found adjusting to life as just another of Dushane’s underlings. 

In terms of the socio-political reach of Top Boy, there is a certain amount of restraint shown by the creative team. The show certainly doesn’t shirk its responsibilities – it clearly demonstrates the contempt in which estates like Summerhouse are held by local government and private developers – but refrains from making any big proclamations. Perhaps that is because this is essentially a story about characters who, as a result of their deprived upbringings, are deeply flawed and, by extension, very dangerous. 

This makes for a constantly evolving and always surprising show that can rightfully claim to be as good as anything produced on these shores in recent years. Previous comparisons to The Wire had felt a little too complementary but, after another stellar run, perhaps it is time for Top Boy to be discussed among such fabled company.    

Mood, BBC

Mood is based on the one woman play: Superhoe, written and performed by Nicole Lecky. In the TV version, Lecky reprises her role as wannabe musician Sasha, and proceeds to embark on an astute look at Gen Z’s obsession with fame, money and the lengths some will go to get them. While this may seem like well-trodden ground, Mood provides an updated and nuanced take on the converging worlds of social media influencing and sex work.

Before she can become a famous singer, Sasha decides she needs to hustle as an influencer in the Love Island mould. The show is in no small part a homage to the reality show. During a sad moment, Sasha asks her friends if they’d like her to “rap and lift the mood a bit” (if you don’t get that reference by now, then you probably won’t want to). Early on in the series, a few Love Island contestants make fleeting cameos, moments that remind us how important the show has become as a cultural touchstone and a crucial talking point in the conversation on fame and its trappings in this country.

Love Island has shown us how superficial the walls between the world of influencing and the world of sex work are. As some former contestants have crossed over into sex work, Sasha herself is seduced into that world when she is taken under the wing of a complicated and mysterious friend, Carly.

Sasha begins by taking pictures of herself for the TV equivalent of Only Fans, before Carly manages to convince her to start sleeping with men for cash. To it’s credit, the show isn’t an entirely negative representation of sex work and is keen to remind the audience that the industry can be body positive and only problematic when consent and agency are lost. 

Unfortunately, that line is crossed when Sasha and her friends agree to go on a trip and are held against their will in a villa crawling with entitled and predatory men. It’s a moment that helps Sasha reconnect with her true self, discover the authenticity in her passion to sing and in turn express her true identity.  

There is intertextuality in this show, in that, as Sasha makes her mark on the entertainment industry, we are witnessing Nicole Lecky emerging into the public consciousness. Lecky (as is intended in Sasha) has talent - her performance is assured and her accomplished original soundtrack punctuates the show in a unique way when big song and dance set pieces transform the drama into a momentary musical.

One criticism you might level at Lecky and Mood, is the sheer volume of subjects that are introduced all at once. Within one short series, Sasha questions her own identity; contemplates her own historic abuse; has a passionate kiss with Carly that isn’t followed up on; as well as a few other things. The show might have been better served in taking all of its admittedly interesting elements one at a time.   

All told, there is enough to like, enough to keep you interested, and enough to make you think in Mood, an impressive bow from Lecky.